An Odd Confession
by LiveByTheStars
Summary: Tweek is terrified of the ever-silent Craig. But a strange encounter leaves Craig's actions to be questioned. First story on here, R&R! T for Tweek's random screams of profanities :P


"GAH!" I shrieked as my hot coffee spilled all over my crotch. I leaped out of my seat, sending my books and at least three other desks flying. The kids in my class laughed at me. I didn't take much notice. I was too focused on my scorched junk.

"STOP SCREWING AROUND!" the teacher screamed at me.

"GAH! I-I-I'M SORRY!" I managed to spit out. He told me to go to the office to get a change of pants. I trembled in fear as the other kids in my class snickered at me and glared with their judgmental eyes. Managing to twitch my way to the door, I made my way to the nurse. This path was familiar to me, I took it almost every day. Mostly because I get my ass handed to me every day by the other guys in my grade, Cartman, Clyde, Stan, and Craig. But mostly Craig.

Craig Tucker.

He is the most terrifying of them all.

We were all only juniors, but Craig was already about 6'2", and he's still growing. He's skinny, but it's the lean skinny, ya know? Not the scrawny like me. I guess I'm so skinny 'cause I sweat all the time 'cause I'm always worried or scared. I don't want to be, but when you have to map out your routes to classes in order to avoid the most of the bullies, you tend to be a bit paranoid. But anyways, back to Craig.

Another reason he terrifies me is because when he's beating my face in, I can see his eyes under his blue hat. They're a freezing grey. They looked a bit dead to me, like there's no soul behind them. They scared me stiff which only made me easier to beat. Oh well, I can take a hit by now. Not like my parents notice anyway.

As I walked into the nurses office, she greeted me warmly with a "Why hello there, Tweek!" We had grown close since she has tended to my daily wounds.

"H-Hi Mrs. Thurman," I said with a small nervous smile. I gestured to my soaked khakis.

"Tsk tsk! Accident?"

I shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

She gave me a warm, motherly smile and pointed me to the closet, going back to checking the temperature of a green looking freshman.

I walked into the large closet, grabbed the first pair of size small jeans I saw, and went into the bathroom to change.

Yanking on the new pants, I reflected more on how Craig scared me. His height and his eyes are enough to scare anyone, but what bothers me the most about him is that he barely speaks. Whereas the other guys jeer at me when they kick my ass, calling me poor, stupid, spastic, gay, or whatever, Craig doesn't. He just rams me against lockers, glares at me while I whimper in terror, punches me, drops me to the ground, and walks away. I never knew why, but it scares the living hell out of me.

Oh well.

I thanked Mrs. Thurman and trudged back to class. The bell rang as I opened the door and a tidal wave of people smacked into me. I was thrown onto the disgusting marble floor. Disoriented, my head spun. Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted by my shirt. My eyes snapped forward. They were met with a dead, grey gaze.

I froze, felt my green eyes grow as wide as the moon, felt the color drain from my already pale face. Craig Tucker stared me dead in the face. My feet were 2 inches off the ground where he was holding me up and I was only 5'10". People stopped around us to look. Some laughed. They knew that Crag hit me the hardest, knew I was terrified of him, and wanted to see me get another black eye as the last one had just finished healing. They waited to see how hard he would hit this time. I did too.

He locked his gaze with mine. Did they just flicker? He dropped me to the floor. I sat there shaking. Shaking and vulnerable. I sat there, waiting for the beating to begin. But no fists met my head. Craig just walked away, flipping off all in his path. Probably didn't want to be late for the bus or something. I trembled in the floor until the hallway had cleared.

Luckily, I walked to school every day, so I didn't have to worry about missing a bus or having a car stolen. I trudged to my locker, gathered my belongings and pushed through the doors into the crisp air. I walked slowly on the slushy sidewalk, half because tripping and looking like an idiot was WAY too much pressure, half because I was thinking.

Why did the kids at school all hate me? Because I was so spastic? Christ! I'm only spastic because they hate me! "It's a vicious circle, man! GAH!" I found myself shrieking. I quickly whipped my head around to see if anyone had heard my outburst. But considering I was on school property at 3:30, I might has well have just screamed at an empty grave.

Another thought that crossed my mind was Craig. Craig Tucker, AKA, My Death Sentence. Why did he beat the hell out of me every day and not scream insults? Did his eyes really flicker or was that just me being dizzy? Why DIDN'T he beat the hell out of me today? Because he's too cool? Because he's a badass? Because he doesn't want to waste his precious words on me? I screwed my face up in distaste. He always thought he was so cool. Yeah, I'll admit, he is the picture definition of "epic," but that didn't give him an excuse to make me nearly piss my pants without reason!

I tugged at my chaotic hair in desperation, but had to push my ponderings to the back of my mind so I could get all my homework done.

Walking into my house, the first thing that met me was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I poured myself a mug, downed it, then poured another and set it down on the table next to my assignments.

"Okay, Tweek," I said quietly to myself, "time for math."

I screamed and fell out of my chair as I opened my math notebook to have a note fell out.

I peered over the edge of the table, inspecting it. I prodded it with a finger and flinched as it scooted across the wood. No apparent powdered toxins… It didn't seem to be rigged with any bombs… I bravely picked it up with a pair of tongs and unfolded the sheet of notebook paper slowly.

"Tweek.

Stark Pond. 4 PM.

Be there. Or else."

"HOLY SHIT! THAT IS WAYYYYYY TOO MUCH PRESSURE!" I screamed out.

Who the hell was this note from? Was it a stalker? Maybe they were going to kill me! OH CHRIST! I DON'T WANNA DIE!

Trembling in fear, I looked at the clock on the coffee maker. 3:47. I added up in my head that if I ran as fast as I could, I could make it to the pond by 4.

"Oh Jesus… Oh hell…" I murmured to myself, putting my dark green hoodie and black boots back on. I booked it out the door, towards the pond.

I nearly fell around every turn because of the melting snow. It was March, so everything was just beginning to melt. I skidded to a halt at the north side or Starks Pond.

I sank down on a bench and sat there panting, head limp, face towards the sky, eyes closed. I finally caught my breath and looked up.

Was that a black figure across the pond? OH CHRIST! NOW IT'S MOVING!

I groaned and curled up in fetal position on the bench, accepting my fate. I tugged at fistfuls of my blond hair and shivered in fear of my own demise.

I felt a presence and glanced up from my episode.

A dead gaze met me.

I wailed and started crying into my arms. Oh great! He didn't want to beat me in the hall because he was saving to kill me later at the pond!

Craig sighed with impatience. I flinched at the noise.

"Tweek."

"GAH! W-w-what?"

He flipped me off.

"Shut up."

I whimpered in defeat.

He studied me peeking out at him from my hideaway in my own hoodie before moving to sit next to me.

I shook in terror with every crunching step he took.

He sank down on the bench with cat-like grace. He was almost silent besides the rustling of his black jeans and midnight-blue cargo jacket. His blue chullo still fit neatly over his pitch black, silky hair even though it had seen years of use.

I trembled like a leaf, letting ACKs and GAHs of anxiety occasionally. Was he here to kill me? Why was he extending this torture? Oh God!

"Wh-Why-ACK!- did y-you make me come here?" I dared to ask, stuttering more than usual.

"Because," he drawled (I flinched at his purring voice), "I needed to tell you something."

"B-but you could've j-just told me today while you were about to-to-to beat me-OH JESUS!" I hid my reddening face in my hoodie again. I trembled in fear that he would remember is intentions and act on them.

But he just sighed.

"It's not something that can be said with all those vultures watching."

I peeked up at him again in curiosity and waited, shuddering, for an explanation.

Craig stared up at the blue sky with his grey eyes.

"You wanna know why I beat you the most, Tweekers? Why I just hit you and don't make fun of you?"

I stared at him, wide-eyed and fear-stricken. Could he read my thoughts? OH CHRIST! WHAT IF HE KNEW ABOUT ALL _THOSE_ THOUGHTS I'D HAD ABOUT HIM? OH SHIT! GOTTA CLEAR MY MIND GOTTA CLEAR MY MI-

"It's because whenever I try to get the nerve to talk to you, I end up not knowing what to do."

..WHAT!

He looked at me, his grey eyes no longer dead, but teeming with emotion.

I saw curiosity, amusement, and… was that... anxiety? Craig Motherfucking Tucker, ANXIOUS! OH JESUS THAT WAS _WAYYYYYYYY_ TOO MUCH PRESSURE!

"I get so frustrated that I, Craig Tucker, the smooth one, can't talk to another guy, that I end up hitting you instead."

"W-…why are you t-telling me this?" I asked, emerging from my hideaway.

He chuckled in a way that made me blush, it was low and sounded like a panther's purr.

"Not sure exactly. Maybe it's because I hate seeing you get so terrified around me."

"It's because of your eyes."

He looked at me.

"My what?"

"NGH! JESUS! Y-… your eyes. They always look- NGH- dead… when you beat me I mean…"

He looked at me with an expression of intrigue and pain. Then he looked back up at the clear sky.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbled.

I sat up straight and put my legs back down.

"Why? I mean, it's not like I'm not, y-ya know, used to it…"

Craig's expression grew even more pained, which was even scarier than seeing it dead.

"Because… because I hate that I hit you because of my own damn stupidity and it's fucking stupid that they torture you because you're gay and it's fucking stupid of me for not growing the balls to talk to you in front of them and it-…"

Holy fucking hell. Craig Tucker... just rambled? With emotion on his face! HOLY SHIT.

My trembling had stopped.

"Are you feeling okay?" I blurted out.

GAH! SO DAMN STUPID! WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND REPLIES TO THAT RAMBLE WITH THAT? FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

But Craig just shrugged.

"I just wanted to get things off my chest," he sighed, "and I haven't even BEGUN. You ready?" he asked, looking at me, grey eyes alight, a smirk playing at his pale lips.

I went numb just by receiving that look. I nodded slowly, bracing myself.

"Okay… I try to get the nerve to talk to you every day, because, ya know, we used to be all close and stuff. And then one day… I guess… I dunno I guess I got a bit too close. So I stopped talking to you because… yeah. And whenever I try to talk to you, you get that terrified look and start shaking and I feel so horrible that I can't say anything… And I have this fucking temper so I just start throwing punches and they end up hitting you… I'm sorry… I know I look like such a fucking idiot, spilling my guts to you when all I do is give you black eyes."

I shook my head.

"You're too much of a badass to look like an idiot," I managed to squeak out.

Craig hummed a laugh.

I turned red.

"S-So… H-how did you um… did you..." I trailed off, burning with embarrassment, too afraid to ask the question that was itching at my mind.

"Get too close?" he offered.

I nodded vigorously, squeezing my eyes shut and tugging at my hair.

"I-… When you sleep over at a friend's house and have the urge to climb into their sleeping bag with them, something's up…" Craig muttered.

My eyes shot open. WHAT? OH HELL! …WAS HE BLUSHING? HOLY SHIT ON A BISCUIT!

He noticed me staring at him, yanking at my hair, and turned even redder.

He suddenly turned and reached towards me and I flinched, but me flinching only made him wince. He kept reaching towards me slowly and I felt his cold hands gently pull my hands from my hair.

I stared at him, dumbstruck.

His grey eyes met my green ones, our gazes locking.

His eyes were alight, slightly hidden by his black locks, his face was light pink from his blush, and his lips were pressed together in a worried line.

"Please don't tug at your hair, you'll rip it out," he said. His voice was monotone, but it portrayed worry, something no one had ever done for me.

I glanced at our hands. His were still wrapped around mine, his ghostly white and mine pink. I yanked mine away in fear. He dropped his to his lap.

"I-… I've… ngh… Craig, I really um…"

He waited patiently.

"I've always felt… felt really close to you…. And I um… It kinda… really hurt when you stopped talking to me… physically and emotionally…" I subconsciously rubbed my aching ribs from yesterday's session. "So I-… I just-MMPH!"

My stuttering was suddenly muffled by a pair of pale lips. I felt my eyes roll back into my head as I melted and wrapped my own lips around them. Warm hands started stroking my cheeks, my arms, my thighs, and it all made me so dizzy that I had to pull away and gasp for air.

We stared at each other.

"…I like you, Craig."

"I like you too, Tweek."

"R-really…?" I couldn't help but grin a bit.

He smiled warmly at me and nodded.

"Yes sir. I know I haven't really been too great to you… but I-.. I just didn't know what I was doing…"

I felt like a huge weight had just been thrown off my shoulders, like a billion butterflies had just been let loose inside me, like I had just been inflated with helium and put on a string and handed to a stoic little noirette.

I grinned, then scooted closer to him.

He grinned at wrapped his arm around my tiny waist.

Looking up into his grey eyes, I felt safe. I laughed a bit, because just 20 minutes ago just the mere sight of him made me want to start digging my own grave. I voiced this to him, and he gave me a hurt look.

I frowned and kissed him again, my left hand inside his jacket, rubbing the small of his back, my right hand on his hand which was on my knee. I wondered if I started guiding his hand up if he would notice…

However he broke off the kiss and looked into my bright green eyes.

"No, really. I'm a fucking horrible person for beating you u-"

"Shut the hell up!" I clapped my hands over my own outburst.

He looked at me in surprise, so I continued.

"I get beat all the time, it doesn't matter. I know you feel bad about it. I don't care. I'm just glad that you're talking to me, let alone kissing me. So shut up."

I trembled, hoping he wouldn't get mad and change his mind…

But he smirked at me, that sex-god smirk that made my insides feel like jelly on a coffee-cake. He flipped me off and then kissed me again.

Sighing in content, I pressed closer into his side, kissing him back gently, tenderly. My hands found their way back into his jacket, and his found my thigh and my chest. I was slightly trembling, but from joy, not anxiety. He pulled me as close as he could, our tongues flitting at each other, our hands slowly making their ways underneath clothing, our cheeks flushing and our breathing growing heavy. We broke off once again, resting our foreheads against one another's, panting. His grey eyes were alive and were gazing into mine through their lashes. I felt my entire being flood with heat…

He nipped at my ear, whispering mischievously, "We should really have another sleepover."

…HOLY SHIT.


End file.
